The house Cat wanted, based on the text message, had lights on and some hip-hop music pumping from the open windows, but it was relatively tame, at this point. There were a few people laying down on the various lawn chairs and porch furniture, some conscious, others still drinking. There was the telltale sign the party was over with a crying girl on the steps.

Cat sighed and approached the open front door. It wasn’t too populated anymore. A couple groups of people still chatted, animated and drunk, but it wasn’t nearly as packed as the last party she went to. Then again, at this time last week, she was already asleep in Cam’s bed.

“Are you here for Cam?” came the familiar voice from the phone. Cat twisted around to see a skinny guy in glasses waving her over to the dining area. The table was occupied by a seemingly intense game of Monopoly; two guys were yelling about how it wasn’t fair to barter when someone at the table was in the bathroom, and a girl, the banker, was shaking the leftover 500 bills to try and bribe them to shut up and stop yelling. Cat followed the host around the corner to a hallway, where Cam slumped against the wall holding a bottle of water.

“Caaaaat!” he called, his arms splayed out to announce her presence.

“Sorry. He can handle his liquor, usually,” Cat said to the guy in glasses. He shrugged and looked to the door when someone else in pajamas stumbled in.

“Oh! Rebecca’s outside crying. You just passed her.” Ah. So he was just trying to get people to leave. At least she wasn’t the only one on babysitting duty.

“Cam,” Cat called, approaching him, “can we go? I’ve got work in a couple hours.” He gasped at her, squeezing the bottle until it crunched.

“Shiiiiiiiiiit, that’s right,” he mumbled to himself. “I don’t got any keys....” Oh, Jesus. Cat almost slapped her forehead with her hand. “But the party’s just getting started!”

“What happened to your keys?” Cat asked instead. She glanced around the floor, examining the flat and stained carpet with a disgusted look on her face. This place was quite gross. What color was the carpet supposed to be originally? ’Cause right now it sort of looked like marble cake, and she knew that wasn’t an option at Home Depot.

“I ’unno. Maybe Peter hash ’em?” Ah. Right. The “occupied” roommate that abandoned Cam to drink himself into paralysis.

She glanced around the room, gesturing for Cam to give her more direction. “Is he conscious?” she tensely.

Cam pointed to the back yard; the door was open, and not many people were left there. A few chairs huddled around a fire pit. Peter sat in one, though he was “sharing” with a girl in his lap, who had her legs wrapped around his waist. Yeah. He was preoccupied, alright. Cat glanced back to Cam.

“Can you stand?” She offered her hand for him to take. He reached up and grasped her hands, but was otherwise dead weight. “I can’t lift you, Cam. You have to work with me, here. We’ve got to get you back.” Planting her feet, Cat pulled as hard as she could, but all she managed to do was slightly shift Cam to her right and slide him on the floor a little, which was apparently the most amusing thing to have happened tonight, because now Cameron was in the fetal position, laughing as he clutched his water bottle.

“Alright, game’s over,” the host yelled to the dining table. The Monopoly players weren’t nearly as drunk as Cam was, or as a few of the passed out people in the yard, so they were a little more receptive as they started to pack up.

“Cam, the party is over. Come on,” Cat urged. But he laughed so hard, shaking his head, wiping tears from his eyes.

“You’re just-uh li’l stick!” he said through his laughter. “You can’t move stoooooooooone!” Jesus Christ. Her irritation had evolved to actual anger; her fists balled up on their own, and before she knew it, she was walking to the backyard to the silhouette of Peter Plus One, calling his name.

“Peter, come get your roommate.” The brunette in his lap peeled her lips off of his, blinking and searching around for the source of her voice. “Or give me your keys or something.”

“Huh?” The girl looked shocked to see Cat standing there, speaking. “How are you in my dream?”

“This isn’t a dream,” Cat said flatly. The girl furrowed her brows and glanced around again.

“So I have to go throw up now?”

“You can do it where you’re sitting. That’s fine with me,” she suggested, gesturing to the guy that still hadn’t answered her.

“What?” Peter seemed to join the conversation now. “Nooo, don’t--don’t throw up on me!” He shoved the girl to get off his lap, who used his momentum to stand as well as she could. She wobbled a bit, but Cat could tell--this one wasn’t making it to the bathroom.

“If you don’t want vomit on you,” Cat started, gesturing to the girl who now started to hack like a cat spitting up a hairball, “you should move back.” She didn’t think that he would take her literally. Peter knocked his chair back; Cat jumped as the legs of his chair went parallel to the floor, his back making contact with the wet grass. The girl fell to her knees and started to hurl, loud, chunky and wet. Cat scrunched her nose as Peter rolled in a reverse somersault to get out of his chair.

“There were so many easier ways to do that,” she muttered to him as he struggled to get to his feet.

“If--I f’rgot.” He hiccuped, now at his feet. A few strands of grass clung to his hair as he tried to smooth out his shirt.

“Give me your keys,” she demanded, holding out her hand.

Peter gasped. “No! You’re too drive to drunk!” Cat rolled her eyes.

“I’m not drunk, I’m not driving. I’m getting Cam back to your room.”

“This again? I can’t--”

Cat started yelling at him, “Jesus Christ, I’m not--we’re not hooking up, I’m just putting him in his room so the host stops calling me!”

“What host?”

“The glasses guy.” Cat pointed inside to the same guy that greeted her, who now stood in front of the TV to tell people to leave.

“He doesn’t…hic...even live here,” Peter said. What? That made no sense.

Cat shook her head. “I don’t care. Give me your keys.”

“Are you robbing me?”

“Am I--are you kidding me?” A few people from inside turned to stare at her, but she didn’t care. She was tired, she was angry, and everyone here was a complete idiot.

“You’re not robbing me! My keys.” He put a protective hand over his pocket and shifted away from her.

Cat pinched the bridge of her nose. “Then give me Cam’s keys.”

“I don’t have Cam’sh keysh.” Peter took a moment to straighten up, blinking hard as if it would sober him up.

“Where are Cam’s keys?”

“We left ’em…in our room. So he can’t lose ’em.”

“Oh my God, either give me your keys or take your roommate home yourself.”

Peter hesitated. “Where is Cam?”

“You’re a mess.”

“Yup.”

Cat decided not to address his answer. “Come on.” To the repetitive sound of the brunette girl vomiting, she urged him to follow her into the house. “Was that the same girl as last week?”

“Tanisha? Yeeeeah, we used to...uh, date.” Well, at least he was consistent. For a brief moment, she wondered if this was the girl that Hannah also knew--the one Peter was seeing when she tried to sleep with him.

“Cam,” she called once they got inside. He still lay on the floor, this time holding a giant chocolate chip cookie. Pft. If anyone deserved that cookie, it was her for dealing with them.

“Hi!” he called with a full mouth. He looked up at them and waved with his free hand.

“I want a cookie,” Peter mumbled. Cat groaned and reached forward to Cam’s free hand and tried to pull him up.

Cam, ever helpful, started to chant: “You’re a stiiiiick....”

“Peter, if you want some cookie, you have to help carry Cam back to your place.”

“I get a cookie?” Suddenly he seemed invested in what Cat was doing, looking at her like a dog anticipating a treat.

“Only if you help take Cam back.”

“Back where?”

"To your room, you drunk dingus!”

"You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk, Peter, I’m pissed. Get the other side, and lift him up. Come on.” Somehow, Peter decided to follow her instructions and approached Cam’s other side to scoop him up. She watched him put Cam’s arm around his shoulder, and she grabbed the other. “Come on. Up you go.” Though with Peter trying to lift him, they now swerved too much to one side, and Cat had to figure out how to correct their stupid sideways Conga line.

“This is the worst,” Peter muttered.

“Stop leaning--Peter!” Cat stared at him, wide-eyed. The whole reason why they swayed so much is because he kept trying to eat the cookie out of Cam’s hand. “You get it after you’re both in your room.”

“Aw....”

“Jesus Christ, you guys suck.”

“I’ve only given four blow--” Cam started to announce before she shushed him.

“Ready? Come on, back to campus.”

“Do you think it’s called campus,” Cam started as Peter and Cat moved forward, “because it’s so campy?” She elected to let Peter answer his stupid, drunk ramblings. Somehow, they managed to slide Cam’s feet all the way out of the house and onto the street. Catherine repeatedly thanked God that there wasn’t very much traffic, that the only people that seemed to be out were the people being kicked out of parties.

“Cam, one foot in front of the other, come on,” she urged under her breath. She counted the stripes of the crosswalk to try and give herself some sort of hope that this would all end soon.

“Why are we here?” Peter asked, as if he just realized that they were literally carrying his roommate to campus.

“Because you wouldn’t do it yourself.”

“Oh. I don’t think...I can carry him on my-shelf.”

Cameron seemed to get a second wind and straightened himself up, pushing against both of their shoulders. “I’m tooooo wiggly!” he announced. Well, it seemed like one leg was doing its job, now. She adjusted herself to try and get him to sit up more, to at least attempt to use his feet, but maybe it was better if she had direct control of where they were going. He was too much like trying to herd cats.

“Alright,” Cat muttered, rolling her eyes. “Almost there. Come on. See?” She gestured in the distance, to the campus lights that shone on the oldest dorm building on campus. “Almost bedtime.”

“Bedtime?” he echoed, “or ‘bed time’?” Ugh.

“You’re going to go to sleep,” she said. Her tone was getting more and more firm. “We’re not doing that anymore, Cam.”

“Aww.” But he didn’t argue, or even whine. Cat let out a “hm.”

“Cam, are you just that horny all the time?” she decided to ask as she dragged him. “Or are you, like...deflecting?”

“Y’mean,” he started before he interrupted himself with a burp. “Like’m I filling holes to fill in a hole?” He laughed at his own joke. “Yeah, suuure. With anyone that’ll supply,” came his slurred voice. His head snapped to his roommate.

Peter answered before he could ask: “I don’t like guys.”

Cat took the opportunity to ask, “Who broke your heart?” but Cam continued laughing at his stupid joke.

“No guys, ever, Peter? Missin’ ooouut. As individuals,” Cam started, now looking forward as they led him toward their building, “guys are great. But as the collective, we are very stupid.”

“One of the smartest things you’ve ever said,” Cat agreed. She was getting out of breath. Swimmers were densely-built; she thought he’d be lighter.

“I’m not stupid,” he continued, ”we’re stupid.”

“We are Groot,” Peter responded, with not that bad of an impression of Vin Diesel. This made Cameron explode into a fit of giggles.

“Time to be quiet now,” Cat whispered as they approached the building. “People are sleeping.”

“People are Groot!” Peter announced just as loudly.

“Oh my God, shut up.”

“Cat is Groot.”

“Peter, I swear to God, I’ll punch you in the face--” But saying this only made them both burst into laughter. She rolled her eyes and tried to pick up the pace.

“What did you even drink?” she groaned.

“Not ’nough,” Peter mumbled. His hand reached for the knob of the glass doors to pull them open, but struggled. He gasped. “We’re trapped!”

“It’s locked, dumbass.” Balancing Cam’s arm on her shoulder, Cat leaned forward with her free hand and her key to unlock the knob, which Peter then pulled open. They shuffled in one by one, sideways, something that put Cam into another fit of giggles.

“We look like a caterpillar.” Then he snorted. “CATerpillar!” Peter joined in his giggles, and Cat gritted her teeth together.

“Quiet time,” she whispered as they made their way to the elevator. Peter was cognizant enough to know to push it.

“Button....”

“Yes, button.” If she felt the urge to roll her eyes one more time, they would fall out of her head. She was missing some good sleep to babysit the world’s biggest idiots. At least it was warmer in the elevator. Though Cam seemed to be severely bothered by the jump of the elevator coming to life, and then the sudden stop just seconds later when they made it to the third floor. “Almost there. Come on....” She didn’t even know what time it was. But maybe she’d get to sleep a little bit if they behaved and got into bed like not-children.

Peter was far more successful with opening his door this week, and used the same hand that held his keys to slap the lightswitch. Finally, they stepped into their room, illuminated by the single light overhead. Peter and Cat immediately swung Cameron toward his bed, and the guy finally flopped his arms in front of himself.

“Wait, what happened to my cookie?” As he leaned on his bed, empty-handed, Cam stared in horror. Peter started to laugh until Cat hushed him. She didn’t notice Peter eating it, but considering Cam no longer had it, that had to be what happened.

“In bed, come on. Shoes off. Legs on the bed.” Cam started to move, slowly, to peel his shoes off by the heels. His roommate twisted around to go into his own bed, and Cat ducked down to the ground to untie Cam’s shoes. “Shoes come off when you undo them,” she said quietly. “Okay.” Now that they were off, she smacked one of his legs. “We’re going to put this leg up on the bed, okay? Jump.”

“I don’t know how to do that.” Jesus.

“Okay, Cam. You’re going to crawl forward onto your bed and I’m going to lift your leg up. Ready? Go.” And for whatever reason, God saw it fitting to send her a boon and this bizarre plan to get Cam onto his bed somehow worked. Cam had three out of four limbs on his bed. And while he looked like a spread-eagled polar bear trying to hold onto an iceberg, it was something. “Other leg now. Here it comes!” She lifted it off the floor to be beside the next one, and Cam started to mumble about how physics didn’t make sense. “On your side, now. Come on.” She shoved his arm, and he thankfully obeyed. He lay on his side, facing her, now reaching for his pillow like a small child.

“This comfy....”

“It’s okay to sleep now, Cam.”

“G’night.”

“Good night, Cam.”

But right as he shut his eyes, he gasped and popped them open again. “Wait!” She didn’t even get to turn around to leave.

“God, what?”

“What?” First, he seemed confused as to why Cat was there, then pointed with his hand to Peter across the room. Cat turned to see his roommate sitting on his bed, shoes off, staring at him.

“What?” Peter asked.

“Don’t forget.”

“I didn’t,” he spat defensively.

Cat inserted herself into their conversation: “What did he not forget?”

“Shhh--don’t tell--”

“I didn’t say anything!” Cameron cried.

“What do you have to do?” Cat asked, tone flat. A babysitter’s job was never done. Peter waved at her to look away.

“Turn around. I don’t wan’ you to see.”

“Jesus Christ, Peter.” She sighed, but faced back to Cam with her arms crossed as she waited for Peter to do whatever it was he needed to without her looking.

Peter must have grabbed something out of his nightstand, a pill bottle of some sort, and opened it to take something out. Cat groaned.

“Seriously?” she sounded, the annoyance returning. “You didn’t want me to know you take pills? Are you serious?” What a fucking child.

“Shhh!” Cam sounded, poking her in the arm. “He doesn’t want people to know he’s depressed.”

“Who the fuck isn’t?” That sounded reductive. She rolled her eyes. “Both my mom and brother are on antidepressants, Peter. You’re not some special snowflake.” But as she said it, Cam started to laugh again.

“You fuckin’ baller!” he called to his roommate, looking past her.

Cat spun around to see Peter sitting up in his bed, with his head tilted back as he drank from a bottle of clear rum.

“Are you serious!” she cried, diving toward him to snatch it out of his hand. A small bit splashed onto his pants, but she was fast enough to take it away from him. “Get your shit together!” Who chased antidepressants with rum? Cat grabbed for the lid out of his hands, but he held it away from her.

“’s nun’ya business--” His face still held the scrunched expression only rum had the ability to give.

She held the bottle away and held out her other hand. “Give me the fucking lid, Peter.”

He coughed a little. “Why do you care?”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t, but you will thank me tomorrow. Give me the fucking lid.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t have a license, and I can’t drive you to the hospital if you get alcohol poisoning.” She thought that perhaps her yelling would get her in trouble, but the gentle sound of snoring from Cam’s bed erased that fear. God, she wished that she was sleeping right now….

“You don’t have a license? For driving cars?” Peter seemed shocked, completely missing the point of what she said.

“I’ll tell you the answer to that if you give me the lid.” The fact that that worked was just a testament to how much he didn’t need the rum she now twisted closed in her hand. Good lord, he must have had a few good gulps before she managed to get this from him. The rum barely touched the label. She shook her head.

Now that things calmed down, and the sound of Cam’s snores lulled them into silence, Cat sighed. “What was that call about today?”

“Hm?” Even drunk, Peter seemed like he was trying to get out of answering. He avoided looking at her, instead staring at the stain on his pants.

“What are you doing?” Cat asked finally, lowering her voice. “On what planet does this help?” She gestured with the bottle, the swishing capturing his attention.

Peter shrugged and let his gaze fall back to his pants. His flushed face fell; his hair, still with grass in it, was so disheveled and unkempt. Everything about his features was soft, uncontrolled. Something somber followed the ebb and flow of his breathing; it made Cat lean forward, as if his sealed lips whispered. But finally, they pursed themselves, and he answered.

“She chose him,” he said with a slight shrug. She wasn’t sure what to think with that answer. He gestured so loosely, let his hand fall back to his knee as if he didn’t care about it. Something in her told her to hold it, just for a moment, but she shoved the thought away when he slowly looked up to her, furrowing his brows in a unique sadness; her chest ached. “My mom.” Cat explored the folds of his expression. In a quick breath, Peter shoved the look of sadness away and instead started to stare at his lap. She was hardly aware of her fingers inching forward, hovering carefully closer to his hand.

“She…?” Cat prompted, hardly above a whisper, hardly audible over Cameron’s snores.

“Did you know--” he interrupted, suddenly sitting up with a burst of energy-- “that you can disown your own son? That’s a thing!" She jumped back into a straight spine, both her hands white-knuckling the rum bottle, now. In all her tiny blips of information she got from eavesdropping here and there, she didn’t ever stop to consider that his mother might have been involved. “Sho she decided-ed--she decided th-that--” At the sound of his voice breaking, Cat’s breathing stopped, as if slower breathing would slow her heart from sinking into her stomach. “Th-that his fucking money was more impor’ant. ‘Cause I’m ill’gi’ment. Disown me, keep th’ money.” He faced her now, seemingly aware that his outburst startled her, but his gaze was too heavy; she found herself staring at the ugly carpet instead.

What was there to say? Maybe if she was Hannah or Cameron, she’d have something to do. Maybe a hug or something. But this…. Cat just stood there, awkward, her gaze now on the rum as Peter stared at her for a reaction. She had to say something.

She sighed. “You’re mom’s...stupid,” she settled on, shrugging. When she looked up to see if her words were okay, he was staring past her, unfocused. “Is this...because of your dad?” As she asked, she wanted to punch herself in the face. What was she doing, asking? This wasn’t any of her business. She couldn’t help him, or even comfort him. She couldn’t even bring herself to say anything nice.

Peter nodded, though still didn’t look at her. “Suicide notes are--hic--hell of a truth serum, hm?” Jesus. Every moment he explained, the tale got darker. She shifted her weight from one foot to another, her brows knitted together as she tried to piece the puzzle together.

“Your dad killed himself?”

Peter sighed. “He comes into m’ life, claiming to be some long lost cousin-uncle-thing, and to not tell my mom--” He hiccupped again, though took longer to recover-- “kills himself, dedicates his suicide note to her--” Another hiccup, this time with a hand to cover his mouth. Muffled, he added, “I’m gunna vomit.” Cat stood up straight, eyes wide as Peter started to scrunch his shoulders. Oh, Hell no!

By her feet, she dropped the bottle of rum, picked up the recycling bin and dumped the water bottles and old homework assignments onto the floor, and only just in time managed to shove it at his face. The wet slapping of his half-digested dinner waterfalled into the blue, plastic bin. Cat coughed, covering her face in her arm as he heaved. She wanted to let go of the bin, to maybe open the window for some fresh air, but Peter now gripped the bin so tightly, her hands with it, that she couldn’t exactly move from being right in front of him, in the way of the acidic fish scent.

Peter’s grip on her hands weakened as he hacked, enough for her to slip away and make sure that his were firmly on the recycle bin; finally, she approached the window and lifted it open just enough to let in a breeze. Cam, the helpful alcoholic, snored away while all of this went on. Though even if Cam was awake enough to comfort his roommate, she wasn’t sure if she would take the cue to leave just yet. What was there even to do? Peter literally just spilled his guts to her--possibly the absolute worst choice in the building.

As he hurled violently, coughing and spitting whenever he had a chance to gasp for air, Cat glanced around the room for anything to help. He sounded like maybe he would be done soon, just based on the sheer volume of vomit that erupted out of him. On top of Peter’s dresser in his closet were a few folded towels; she took the liberty of grabbing one, and took the water bottle from his desk to pour some water on it, then returned to him.

“Here,” she offered, placing the towel on his hand. Head still in the bin, he grabbed for it and brought it to his mouth to wipe away some of his mess. She reached for the bin, then nudged his other arm with the water bottle to indicate for him to take it. “I’ve got it. You can let go.” For whatever reason, drunken Peter accepted her help, and she gently set the bin on the floor.

“You have to take your meds again,” she murmured quietly. Peter’s face was stuffed fully into his towel, as if the cotton could wipe away the shame that naturally came with puking in a bucket. “Peter.” She stepped around the bin to his nightstand, and reached for the bottle he’d taken earlier to pass to him. Fluoxetine, a generic brand of Prozac. He wasn’t even on a very high dose. Cat sighed and pulled out two capsules as described, then presented them to him.

“Don’t--” he started quietly, “don’t tell anyone.” Sloppily, he took them from her hand and just tossed them into the back of his throat.

For a brief moment, it was as if she spoke to her brother when he first confessed to being on it. Cat frowned, then moved the recycling bin with her foot so she could stand directly in front of him. “Do you take Dayquil when you’re sick?” she echoed from before.

“Hm?” Peter furrowed his brows as he swallowed a sip of water, staring at her as if she just grew a second head.

“That’s all this is.” She set the bottle down on his nightstand before looking back to him. “It’s not a big deal. Nearly my whole family’s on it.” He wasn’t looking at her anymore. It was so obvious; she stood right in front of him, and he just kept looking around the room, any excuse to avoid her words. But this was important. This was something her brother and her mother struggled with every day, something that if they didn’t understand, could take them away from her any moment. She leaned forward enough to catch his attention, and stared straight into his eyes. He had to understand this. “It’s just like taking an Aspirin every day for your heart. It’s fine.”

After a long, quiet minute of Cameron’s snores filling the air, Peter let out a quiet, “Oh.”

Cat’s pocket began to buzz. It took her a moment to notice, but eventually, she broke away from his gaze and pulled out her phone. Her alarm flashed at her, telling her it was time to get up and get ready for work. She could just toss this thing out the window. After dismissing it, she looked back up to Peter. He slumped against the wall, staring into nothingness.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asked gently. He nodded, though he didn’t look like he heard her at all. Cat reached for the towel and gently pulled at it. He let go of it and slumped further, blinking slowly as he sunk into his pillow. He was going to pass out. “I’m going to put this right here,” she said as she set the towel on the far end of his nightstand.

Finally, Peter let out a slow sigh and settled into fully lying down, but his eyes didn’t close. He just stared, exhausted, straight ahead. Cat hesitated.

“You...if--” Her tongue ran dry. What could she say to make this all better, to make this thickness in the room go away? “You should--if you want to talk later….” If he ever wanted to. Why would he choose to talk to her, instead of someone else? “You’re gunna be fine,” she settled with saying. But her words went in one ear and out the other. For a moment, she sat there in the silence, heart heavy, frown prominent. Peter’s eyes eventually found hers, tired and heavy.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Cat pursed her lips together, and slowly took a step back. “I’ve gotta get ready for work. You sure you’re okay?” He just nodded to her, and with no evidence to the contrary, she took her leave.